A/N: Thank you Guest for your review of chapter 7 (and "Belonging" if that was you too). Time to finally find out how Team Free Will is going to get out of this mess!

Chapter 8

Never in his wildest dreams would Sam have thought that having a hellhound around would make him feel safe. Or, well, safer. Because as long as the hellhound was playing guide dog, that meant they probably weren't about to be attacked by more demigods with super strength and huge swords. That had been way too close, and it seemed Coyote was stepping up the ante in terms of what contestants he let into the games. Sam wondered if the Trickster god knew about Crowley's hellhound, though that was probably why it was keeping its distance, so as to remain undetected.

The three of them continued to trudge along with no end in sight. When Sam finally caught a glimpse of a roof through the treetops ahead, his first thought was it was just a hunger-induced hallucination.

"Is that a cabin?" he sputtered.

Dean whipped his head up. "Finally," he grumbled, confirming it was real.

Even if it was abandoned, there was a chance they could find some supplies, maybe even food, but at the very least it was shelter. They'd been walking most of the day, and would have to decide whether to continue or take a break in a relatively secure place and wait for tomorrow before resuming their trek.

As they got closer, they discovered the structure was much larger than a simple cabin.

"Looks like a hunting lodge," Sam said, and he felt a thrill of hope that they'd found help.

Cas paused and looked over his shoulder. "The hellhound is leaving."

Dean shrugged. "This must be grandmother's house."

Sam had to begrudgingly admit that it probably would have taken them a lot longer to find this place without the beast's help.

The three of them strode up to the entrance, and Sam heard noises coming from inside.

Dean pushed ahead of him. "God, I'm starving." He shoved the doors open and plowed inside, only to come to an abrupt stop.

Sam nearly collided with his brother as he, too, pulled up short and stared. The lodge was packed, but before Sam could feel any sense of relief, he noticed some of the patrons were arrayed in strange garb—kinda like the Viking that had attacked them. Some people had yellow or red eyes. Sam whipped his gaze to his right and spotted the fangs of a vampire standing only a few feet away, a glass with viscous red liquid in his hand. The smell of sulfur also tinted the air.

The people nearest the doors fell silent, gaping at them in surprise. The hush spread, and soon the entire place was quiet, everyone staring in bewilderment at the new arrivals.

"You've got to be shittin' me," Dean hissed, gripping the Viking's sword at the ready.

Sam mentally cursed the stupid hellhound, and Crowley. This had been a trap all along.

A loud, measured clap shattered the stupor, followed by another. Coyote made his way through the stunned crowd, slowly and rhythmically clapping an applause.

"Congratulations, gentlemen. I must say, I'm impressed you made it this far."

Sam nervously swept his gaze around the room, taking in the numerous vampires, werewolves, and what were probably pagan deities and demons. He knew there were 'spectators' for this little sideshow, but he hadn't quite imagined it'd be this…popular.

They were so screwed.

"Well," Coyote continued. "You have a choice here, boys. We reset the games and you go back into the mountains, see how much longer you last." His mouth twisted in an eager grin that suggested he favored that option. "…Or we end everything right now and you go to the highest bidder."

Sam stiffened, and he felt Cas move beside him, angel blade coming up in defense. But they were outnumbered, and several goons rushed them at once. The sword was wrested from Dean's hand, his arms yanked behind his back. Sam instinctively tried to throw off the hands grabbing at him, but someone put a knife to Dean's throat and snarled,

"Don't move!"

Sam froze, as did Cas, and both of them were relieved of their weapons before being roughly manhandled to the center of the room. Sam found himself with a knife to his throat as well.

One of the thugs restraining Cas leaned in close to him. "Be a good birdie or your pets lose their tongues."

A muscle in the angel's cheek ticked, but he held himself rigidly still.

Coyote came to stand in front of them. "So, what will it be?"

"The arena!" someone yelled.

"I'll give you 50,000 pounds for the Winchesters!" another voice shouted.

"I want the angel's wings!"

Sam's stomach churned with helplessness and horror. They were going to die. If not now, then soon if they were tossed back out on the mountain. He'd never see his mom again, never get to make the most of their miraculous second chance together. And she'd never know what happened to them. Would the grief drive her as insane as it had John? Would she throw herself fully back into hunting looking for them, looking for vengeance? Sam looked at his brother and saw the same terror in his eyes.

Someone cleared their throat obtrusively then, settling the din. Sam sputtered soundlessly as none other than Crowley stepped forward, hands tucked in his pockets and looking as blasé as ever.

"I have a proposition," he began, sweeping his gaze around the room. "While these games have been quite entertaining, I can't help but wonder if there might be a mechanism of…favoritism, involved."

"Excuse me?" Coyote rejoined.

"Well, how else to explain these buffoons winning every single round?" Crowley paused, apparently for dramatic effect, as his next words were spoken low and pointedly. "Which also happens to mean the house has been winning. Every. Single. Round."

Several patrons started shooting each other subtle glances. Sam swallowed nervously. He really wished he knew what Crowley was up to, and whether it would bite the Winchesters in the ass this time around.

Coyote narrowed his eyes at the demon. "Is this your attempt at saving face since your hellhound ran off like a coward?"

Sam's jaw clenched. Guess that answered one question. Sort of. When Crowley glanced his way, Sam couldn't make heads or tails of the expression on the King of Hell's face.

"On the contrary," Crowley replied. "I'm merely proposing a simple and straightforward sudden death match. With you as the challenger."

Sam flicked a worried look at Dean and Cas. That was so not what he was hoping for. They'd barely survived the fight against the last demigod.

Coyote glowered in response. "These are my games and those are not the rules."

"Your rules haven't produced any winners, except for yourself," Crowley retorted.

"Yeah," someone else piped up. "What's with that?"

"Maybe the games are fixed."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and now it wasn't just the Winchesters and Cas on the other end of malevolent glares.

Coyote's cheeks puffed with rage. "Now see here—"

"I want to see this match," someone roared, eliciting raised howls of agreement.

Sam was suddenly shoved around, and then the crowd was herding them toward the door and outside. He was thrust forward, along with Dean and Cas, into the center of a large circle of spectators forming around them.

"What do we do?" Sam hissed.

Dean didn't respond. Like there was a solution here at all. The three of them rotated, pressing their backs to each other in order to keep all of their angles covered. Across from them, the people parted so Coyote could be ushered into the circle as well. The demigod looked furious, but he was clearly outnumbered. Not that it mattered. The supernatural denizens started chanting for a fight.

"Ah," Crowley interjected, forcing them to quiet. "Before we start, give them their weapons back."

The patrons exchanged confused looks.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, I thought we were proving the games weren't fixed."

There were a few rumbles of uncertainty, but just when Sam thought it was a lost cause, their weapons were tossed into the circle at their feet, even the sword Dean had taken off the Viking. So between that and the two angel blades, they might actually have a shot at getting in a fatal hit…which didn't exactly solve their problem when there were still a few dozen monsters surrounding them.

"You call this a fair fight?" Coyote protested.

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "Right, of course. You need a weapon too. Someone give him something."

Another sword was tossed into the ring where it landed at Coyote's feet. He snatched it up with a scowl. "Three against one?"

Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically. "And here I thought you pagans were supposed to be fierce warriors. Apparently Frey wasn't the most pathetic of you lot."

There were some snickers from the vampires and werewolves, but some dark glowers from those Sam figured were other pagan deities—directed at Coyote. Crowley was obviously goading them all, but evidently they were too stupid or proud to realize it. Sam still didn't like the situation. He gripped the hilt of his angel blade so tightly his knuckles cramped.

Coyote's nostrils flared, but instead of arguing further, he whirled and lunged at the Winchesters without warning. Sam barely got his weapon up defensively, not that he needed to because Cas had leaped in front of him and met Coyote's charge. Their blades crossed with a screech. Sam and Dean stumbled back a few steps to get out of the way as Coyote pulled his blade back and swung again. Cas blocked once more, then spun out and under, slashing at Coyote's thigh. He howled and arced his sword, which caught Cas in the back and knocked him to the ground. Sam's heart nearly stopped, but it seemed the angel had only been hit with the flat of the blade, for there was no blood and he rolled instantly to his feet again.

Coyote snarled as he brandished his weapon against the angel. This time when their blades met, there was a crack of thunder, and lightning forked down from the sky to strike the tip of Coyote's sword. The Trickster god thrust his other palm out, and the lightning zinged from one blade into the other before leaping onto Cas. The angel went down in a torrent of rippling plasma.

"Cas!" Dean shouted.

Coyote whirled toward them and raised his sword again. Dean surged forward to meet it, the Viking sword being a better match in length. The impact rang out with a discordant screech, and Dean grunted under the strain.

Sam lunged with his angel blade, aiming for Coyote's side. The demigod broke away from Dean to avoid the blow, and Sam nearly crashed into his brother instead. Coyote danced back and let out a series of yips. The crowd responded with cheers and jeers.

Sam gripped Dean's elbow and helped him regain his balance, but before they could regroup, Coyote was on them again. Rather than using his blade, he struck out with a knee to Dean's stomach that had him doubling over, and then head-butted Sam. Stars burst across his vision as he staggered back. Coyote grabbed the front of Sam's shirt and flipped him over his shoulder. The air punched from his lungs as he hit the ground hard, and Sam was left gasping to get that precious oxygen back.

Coyote loomed over him. "Game over."

Sam blinked furiously and tried to get up. Coyote raised his sword, but then jerked as a howl ripped from his throat. He stumbled, and Sam saw an angel blade buried to the hilt in Coyote's lower back. Behind the demigod, Cas was still where he'd fallen several feet away, half sitting up and breathing heavily, his angel blade no longer in hand.

Sam flung himself up with as much strength as he could muster, and drove his own blade into Coyote's side. He didn't have enough energy to reach the pagan's heart, but the blow still made Coyote screech in agony and try to stagger away.

Dean came up behind the deity, and with one swing of his sword, chopped off Coyote's head. The body crumpled, and then Dean stabbed the point of the sword into the heart, just for good measure.

Sam's chest was heaving, blood roaring in his ears, but he realized that the crowd had fallen quiet at yet another unexpected victory on the part of the Winchesters and their angel. He flicked a harried glance at Coyote's corpse, which now had two of their weapons stuck in it and out of reach. Only Dean was still armed, and he was sweeping his gaze around frantically for the next attack.

"Well," Crowley spoke up, stepping forward into the circle. "It looks like I win."

Sam flashed the demon a perplexed look, as did several of the bystanders.

"You…?" someone started.

"It was my wager," Crowley explained nonchalantly. "Which means the Winchesters and the angel are now mine."

"Wait just a minute," Dean growled, raising his sword a fraction.

Crowley merely snapped his fingers, and a low growl had several people jumping aside. Sam couldn't see anything, but in the next instant, Cas grunted as something apparently shoved him back flat on the ground. A puff of steamy breath exuded from an invisible mouth inches from Cas's face.

Sam froze and shot his brother a terrified look. So much for the hellhound helping them.

"Hold on there, Crowley," another patron spoke up, coming forward. "You can't just come in here and—"

Crowley lifted his eyes to the sky, and then whipped out an angel blade from his suit jacket, which he stabbed through the guy's throat. It was apparently a demon, because he died in a flash of flickering orange.

"Anyone else want to contest the results?" he asked mildly.

The crowd exchanged questioning looks with each other, perhaps planning to attack all at once.

"Better stay back, lads," a familiar Scottish voice said. Sam's jaw slackened as Rowena stepped to the front of the circle. "My son does have a legitimate claim on the winnings."

Crowley arched a single brow at her, but quickly covered up his hint of surprise and turned back to the patrons. "Seeing as how the original owner of this fine enterprise is now deceased, I'll be acquiring the license for these games as well. Coyote's vision, while inventive, was too narrow. Just imagine the possibilities of an expanded version of these games. Why, there'd even be plenty of stock with souls freshly delivered to Hell."

Dean made a strangled noise in his throat and looked on the verge of saying something to the effect that they weren't just gonna stand by and let that happen, which Crowley merely snorted at softly.

"I'll have to find a new venue, of course. But you'll all be receiving an exclusive invite when the games are up and running again, courtesy of the King of Hell."

Sam held himself tensely as everyone exchanged thoughtful glances. After a moment, the first few people started trickling away, followed by more. Soon, the crowd had dispersed, leaving only Crowley, Rowena, and the hellhound with the Winchesters and Cas.

Sam glanced at the angel, still pinned to the ground, and swallowed hard as he remembered just how deadly hellhound wounds could be.

"Crowley…" Dean said warningly.

"Juliet, love, you can release him now."

There was a chuff and then the crunch of leaves as the hellhound apparently backed up. Cas slowly sat up, warily eyeing the space of air in front of him. Then he cautiously stood and began to sidestep his way back to the Winchesters. Sam got to his feet as well.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "You're welcome."

Sam gaped at the demon disbelievingly. He…hadn't actually expected to survive this.

"Yeah, thanks," Dean said gruffly.

Cas canted his head at Crowley. "Why did you help us to begin with?"

"You were merely a means to an end," the demon replied.

"So you could take over some twisted gladiator ring?" Dean asked with a scowl.

"So I could remind everyone who exactly is the King of Hell, who will always be the King of Hell!" Crowley replied, voice rising an octave. He rolled his neck in an apparent attempt to compose himself. "And I think the next special guest for such an event should be a certain archangel recently deposed."

Dean snorted and muttered, "Good luck with that."

Crowley gave him a sardonic look, then turned to Rowena. "Mother, let's chat, shall we?"

The witch arched a simpering brow, but shrugged. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley and her suddenly vanished.

Sam swallowed hard. "Uh, Cas, the hellhound?"

"Gone," he replied.

Sam's shoulders sagged in relief.

Dean was looking around with a scowl on his face. "Can we just find a way to get the hell off this mountain?"

They found a jeep in a garage next to the main lodge, which the Winchesters hot-wired so they could finally leave the mountains and forest behind and get back to civilization. Dean made several grumbling remarks about his "Baby" being left in the middle of Arkansas and how she'd better still be there when they went to retrieve her.

After having had a car himself, Castiel understood the possessive fondness the elder Winchester had for the Impala. He missed his Continental at times. And now that the truck he'd been using was likely gone, he would have to figure out another means of transportation.

Once they were out of the national park and on the outskirts of a city, Dean pulled out his cell phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Mom? Hey… Oh, yeah, we were on a hunt. No cell service, sorry." Dean cleared his throat. "So, uh, you doing okay?" His features smoothed in obvious relief. "Yeah. No, we'll be a few more days. You have fun…yeah. Bye."

He hung up and let out a heavy breath.

"So nothing went after her?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nope. She said she'd be back at the bunker tomorrow."

"Good," Sam said, slumping slightly in his seat as the last worry they'd been holding onto was resolved.

Castiel was also relieved that not only had Mary not gotten caught up in anything while they were gone, but that he'd managed to help the Winchesters get back to her like he'd promised. Which just left the problem of Lucifer, though in truth, Castiel was rather exhausted from this ordeal, and wasn't feeling quite up to resuming his hunt. He needed to, though. He couldn't rest until Lucifer was back in the Cage and no longer a threat to the world—or the Winchesters.

Dean pulled the jeep into a large parking lot for an outdoor shopping mall, saying this was as good a place as any to switch vehicles for something to take them the rest of the way to Arkansas.

"Would you mind procuring a vehicle for me as well?" Castiel asked. While he wasn't eager to steal someone's car, at least it was a crime victims could easily recover from.

Dean stopped abruptly, body language suddenly tense as he stared at Castiel. "What?"

Castiel rolled his shoulder in discomfort. "I don't know how to steal a car." Oh, how far he'd fallen, he thought ruefully, that theft was a skill he needed to develop. "And I have no means of getting around…" He trailed off in confusion at the almost panicked looks the Winchester brothers were giving each other.

Sam cleared his throat. "Cas, we thought you'd come with us."

He frowned. "I need to continue the hunt for Lucifer."

"Not by yourself," Dean said gruffly.

"It's my responsibility—"

"No, it's not," Dean cut him off. "And even if it was, we can still help with it."

Castiel shook his head. "You have other important matters to see to."

"You've always helped us with our problems," Dean pressed. "So we'll help with this. Because that's what family does."

Castiel sighed. "I'm not saying you can't help. But I should be out there scouring for Lucifer's trail."

"You should move into the bunker," Dean blurted.

Castiel blinked. "Why?"

Dean reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, looking exasperated for reasons Castiel couldn't comprehend.

"Because we worry about you," Sam said, mouth pursing. "Because everyone needs a home base, and…and because it's taken us too damn long to ask you," he added quietly.

Castiel's chest constricted at the offer. He'd gotten it once before, but that was a moment he didn't like to think about, because the crushing disappointment that had come soon after had nearly broken him. And he hated how even still, the hope made him ache with longing, especially since the truth was he had been incredibly lonely since leaving the Winchesters after rescuing Sam from the British Woman of Letters.

Castiel shifted his weight. "I'm not sure your mother would be comfortable with that."

"The bunker's big enough for all of us," Sam pointed out.

"Mom just needs to get to know you," Dean said. "And…she's kinda getting used to a lot of things right now. I don't think having an angel as a roommate is gonna be the hardest to adapt to."

Castiel still wavered indecisively. If he moved into the bunker, it would slow down his hunt for Lucifer. But…it wasn't as though he'd been making much headway on his own. And having a 'home base' as Sam called it wasn't the same as abandoning the hunt.

"I can get by on my own," he said, but it didn't come out as convincingly as he'd intended.

"But you don't have to," Sam said. "You shouldn't have to."

"Cas," Dean said, voice sounding rough with emotion. "I get that you think you're expected to leave, because that's- that's what we've always done. And I get that you're probably waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for us to change our minds and kick you out…" He swallowed hard. "I don't- I don't know how to fix…this. But I want to try. Please."

Castiel's throat tightened unpleasantly. He never did have the wherewithal to refuse Dean Winchester. "Alright," he said softly. "I will go with you."

And I will stay.

Dean looked relieved, and Sam smiled. One of the knots inside Castiel's chest began to unstitch; he always had been a sap for hope.

"First thing we need to do when we get back is decorate your room," Dean said as he started strolling through the lot in search of their next vehicle. "But no Martha Stewart catalogs."

Sam snorted. "You know Mom already has one of those, right?"

Dean paused, floundering for a moment. "Well, uh, she's a girl, so, you know…"

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to Castiel. "You can decorate whatever way you want. And if Dean gives you any trouble, just go to Mom for backup." His lips twitched. "You can even suggest she spruce up Dean's room."

Dean made a strangled sort of sound, followed by a series of threats toward his younger brother.

Castiel barely heard them, as his ears were still ringing with the concept of 'his' room. He had never had a place of his own before, not even in Heaven. He'd had to intrude upon an autistic man's personal paradise for a place of privacy and tranquility, even though Castiel knew it hadn't bothered the soul. But to have a sanctuary that he could retreat to…that would always be there for him…surrounded by…family.

Well, for the first time in a very long time, Castiel felt as though he finally belonged somewhere again.

A/N: And there we have it, along with more feels of belonging. ^_^ Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! And to those who lurked. ^_^ Next up is a sequel to my story Past the Point of No Return which continues that arc as the boys hunt for Pestilence and Cas deals with being human. See you Monday!